Chuck is the author of the published novels: Blackbirds, Mockingbird, Under the Empyrean Sky, Blue Blazes, Double Dead, Bait Dog,Dinocalypse Now, Beyond Dinocalypse and Gods & Monsters: Unclean Spirits. He also the author of the soon-to-be-published novels: The Cormorant, Blightborn (Heartland Book #2), Heartland Book #3, Dinocalypse Forever, Frack You, and The Hellsblood Bride. Also coming soon is his compilation book of writing advice from this very blog: The Kick-Ass Writer, coming from Writers Digest.

He, along with writing partner Lance Weiler, is an alum of the Sundance Film Festival Screenwriter’s Lab (2010). Their short film, Pandemic, showed at the Sundance Film Festival 2011, and their feature film HiM is in development with producers Ted Hope and Anne Carey. Together they co-wrote the digital transmedia drama Collapsus, which was nominated for an International Digital Emmy and a Games 4 Change award.

Chuck has contributed over two million words to the game industry, and was the developer of the popular Hunter: The Vigil game line (White Wolf Game Studios / CCP). He was a frequent contributor to The Escapist, writing about games and pop culture.

Much of his writing advice has been collected in various writing- and storytelling-related e-books.

He currently lives in the forests of Pennsyltucky with wife, two dogs, and tiny human.

He is likely drunk and untrustworthy. This blog is NSFW and probably NSFL.

Chuck Wendig is a novelist, screenwriter, and game designer. This is his blog. He talks a lot about writing. And food. And pop culture. And his kid. He uses lots of naughty language. NSFW. Probably NSFL. Be advised.

And Lo, The Angels Did Command: “Ponder The Nerdtivity, Or We’ll Go Shithouse On Your Ass”

Seriously. The angels said it. They screamed it. It belched from forth their mad bodies in great plumes of fire — electromagnetic waves radiating from their thousand nipples did besiege my poor human mind, so incapable, so frail, and I was forced to kneel and do as the lunatic angels commanded. That’s right. We’re not talking the “harps and fluffy wings” angels. We’re talking some Ezekiel-level trip out. Whirling disks and a thousand eyes. A hundred limbs and endless teeth.

Those kind of angels. Brr.

As for “go shithouse on your ass,” no, I don’t know that that means, but given that angels can blow apart cities with but a blow from their heavenly trumpets, I’m inclined not to ask pesky questions.

What I’m trying to say is, it’s time to conceive the fourth annual Nerdtivity.

Don’t know what a Nerdtivity is? Click the pics below, and enjoy the tales.

I know, I’m not the only guy doing this. I think I’m the only one calling it the “Nerdtivity,” though, so I get some kind of imaginary pop culture points for that, right? Points I can cash in after I die, like when I win a bunch of Ski-Ball games in a row and want to buy a GI Joe decoder watch or some shit? Yeah.

What goes into a good Nerdtivity scene? As the angels did command, let us ponder.

You Need Yourself A Jesus

“So it was that the tiny messenger brought a new robot baby in a dirty cooler covered in cockroaches. The robot couple decided to name their baby ‘Meatface’ as an irony, because robots do have faces but they have no meat on those faces. The baby was born, a robot nativity, and lo, it was rad.”

Obviously, the whole point of a nativity scene is The Jesus. I mean, you don’t get a nativity without A Jesus being born.

Oh, and I know. I’m going to Hell. I get that. Let’s all hold hands and jump together.

What I’m saying is, you need some figure to stand in as the Jesus proxy. In the first Nerdtivity, I have some surly teen Jesus (one of the “Homies” line of vending machine toys) known as the Baby Jeebus, with his mother, Curlerhead, and his father, Jonny Stoveblock. In the second Nerdtivity, Jesus is actually doublefold (“And lo! Hark! The Nerdy Angels sing! The Nerdtivity was not just one child, but two! The mother, Angela Scarsboro from Queens, New York, was proud of her little geek babies. And Ape Sapien was there, not that he was the Dad but he has gills, and gills rule. And it was awesome.”). Third Nerdtivity was a dirty robot baby in a filthy Wall-E cooler. So, yeah.

This year, I dunno. Part of my troubles with the Nerdtivity is, I’m doing this awful thing called “growing up,” which means I have less cause to go out and buy toys. I want to, but fuck, you can only play with your Star Wars figures so many times in your diapers before the neighbors wonder what’s up. I mean, I guess I shouldn’t do it on their porch? Whatever. Fuck them and their cats.

Either way, the Jesus really isn’t the centerpiece of the Nerdtivity — I mean, thematically, sure. Everything orbits around the little sonofabitch. (I’m not calling Actual Jesus a sonofabitch, so everybody just settle down. I’m speaking of Fake Plastic Geek Jesus. Otay? Otay.) But physically, Baby Jesus is appropriately small. He’s the nucleus of this nerdy cell. Everything swims around his tiny form, his mote of dorky potential.

Painting With Pop Culture Shotguns

“Lo, but God knew that sometimes, chumps get out of line, and chumps need to get eaten by a monster that looks a bit like a lump of dung covered in shoe leather. So God invited the Rancor Monster to eat the chumps who get out of line. And it was good.”

What I’m saying is, consider your source material.

…

Wait, hold on. Am I drunk yet on gin martinis?

…

Yes. Yes, I am. It just happened. Like that! *snaps fingers* I started wondering, “Hey, are those my lips that I can no longer feel?” And when that question hits, it’s Wendigtime in Drunktown. (Or Drunktime in Wendigtown? I always get that wrong.) Ring the bells, bitches.

Where was I? Yes. Source material.

From the earlier aforementioned (welcome to the Department of Redundancy Department) geeky nativities, you’ll see a few different approaches. Some guys focus on one particular Sacred Nerd Property. Your Doctor Who Nerdtivities, your Star Wars Nerdtivities, whatever. Me, I like to spray wantonly, the dribs and drabs squirting far and wide. You’ll note a number of geeky pop culture properties represented: Wall-E, Avatar the Last Airbender, Star Wars, Sealab 2021, Battlestar Galactica, Homestar Runner, blah blah blah. I also throw in other random shit: chickens, tractors, dice, and what-have-ye.

So, it’s valuable for the Nerdtivity to aim far and aim wide. Just for color. For variety. To rep-ruh-zent.

Holy shit, I’m getting loopy.

Man, this is fun. I should blog-on-booze far more often. Of course, like all things when drunk, it’s probably more fun for me than it is you. I’ll click on over here tomorrow when sober, and I’ll marvel at the sheer nonsensery of the whole thing. Hieroglyphics, umlauts, poop stains on the walls. I think it’s brilliant, and it’s just muckity-muck.

My wife just said, “If they just didn’t have a laugh track, I’d totally watch that show.”

Go ahead. Name the show she’s talking about. Name it. NAME IT.

Okay, moving on.

Are You A Size Queen?

And now, a reading from the Book of Aphasia: “Two robots did descend from the celestial highlands, and they had male and female robot parts, and they could bang these parts together in a most hellacious clamor, but that was all. It was merely a plug-and-socket, and it was a lifeless coupling.”

What I’m saying is, the size of the Nerditivty matters. First, you have to get yourself a nativity set. The sad, blasphemous part is, you’re gonna have to strip out the Jesus and the three wise and all those little crazy bastards, because you need to fit in your own bullshit. And, even then, you need to utilize various sizes of toys in your Nerdtivity. Little dudes, medium dudes, big dudes.

Why? Christ, I dunno. Variety is the spice of life. Also: nutmeg.

I guess what I’m saying is, you need an excuse to use a giant Rancor Monster.

Man, the Rancor has a kind of pinched butthole face, you ever notice that? He looks pretty much retarded, that guy. Like someone bashed in his face with a shovel when he was fresh out of the Rancor Vagina. You know what’s weird? I remember reading the Star Wars novel, and I recall some line about how the Jawas and the Sand People were related somehow, like maybe the Sand People were basically birth defected Jawas or something. But that’s probably not true. I made that up in a fever dream or something. Is it true?

Downhill fast.

Dude, You Need Some Fuckin’ Wise Men

“But Lando’s groovy capture of Emperor Palpatine would not be enough, Fat Joe knew. He needed a blood sacrifice, because them’s the rules. So he called on Lando who betrayed his buddy from Sullust, Nien Nunb. They stabbed Nien Nunb in his flappy-skinned fish face, and he died, and it was good.”

I don’t even know who you people are anymore. Three of these things, and I’m good to go. I can barely type. Whenever I try to type “drunk,” I type “drink.” I have to keep going back and fixing errors.

Get off my lawn!

You need wise men, is what I’m getting at. You need a bunch of dudes standing around, being all wise and shit. I have some Homestar Runner figurines in the first, and in the third, some Homies. In the second… uhh. Shut up. I don’t think I actually put wise men in there.

My eyelids are numb. I just went to itch one, and I could barely feel it.

Gin is great. I’m rocking the Tanqueray. With the limes? The little fancy limes? What the fuck is that called?

Rangpur?

Rangpur limes?

Are those real?

Are the Tusken Raiders retarded Jawas?

Where are my pants?

You need some fucking wise men.

What About The Backdrop? What About The Backdrop, Motherfucker?

“God knew that a Nerdtivity was always risky, for nerds are a volatile bunch. And so he said, ‘Just in case this kid gets uppity, we’re going to need to give him some bird flu, and fast.’ So he got A Giant Mosquito to bring a little taste of bird flu to the manger. And it was good.”

I say that you need to think about the backdrop, but I’ve punked out on the backdrop three years running. It’s just my goddamn dining room. How’s that for creative? I should do like, a night-time sky or something. And for the record, it took me three tries to type “night-time.”

Another quote from my wife: “He looks like a kid-toucher.”

Go ahead. Guess who she’s talking about. GUESS.

My wife is awesome, because she says things like that without me prompting her. I mean, sure, I have a gun to her head. Shhhhh. Don’t tell! It’ll be our little secret.

GIN.

Sweet gin.

Maybe for a backdrop, I could do some kind of swirling supernova shit. Some kind of of aurora borealis. What’s a nipple? An aureola. What about an aureola borealis? Glowing nipples, smearing nuclear milk across the night-time sky. Hah! I typed that in one go this time, you sumbitches. Yah!

GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN GIN

I think “drinking and blogging” sounded like a better idea when I started. Don’t get me wrong. I’m having a blast. But you poor fuckers are buckled in. I’m sorry. This is a train wreck. Let me take a few minutes to cry to myself like a little girl, and see if we can’t get this horse a-kicking again.

…

No, probably not. MORE GIN.

What I’m saying is, the Nerditivity has a special place in our annual tradition here in Der Wendighaus, and tonight is the night when I figure out what the hell will go into such a delicate (read: clumsy and slapdash!) project. I may have to suck it up and buy one or two more small toys to go into the manger this year. Not sure.

I encourage you all to get drunk and blog — no, no, I mean, I encourage you all to come up with your own Nerditivities this year. Except, when you do, you have to pay me five dollars. Because it was my idea! My precious! Trademark! Copyright! Patent pending! GIN! Muh! Nnnngh!

I read that entire thing trying to find out why a Dreadnoct was giving birth to a d20. I really thought I’d find something within that would make this cooky world all make sense and come together (right now, over me). And you know what? I did.

My guesses:
“If they just didn’t have a laugh track, I’d totally watch that show.” – Anytime Glenn Beck is on Fox (Is it just me that hears the laughter? It alternates with weeping, but that might be Beck).

“He looks like a kid-toucher.” – In the interest of using an answer other than Glenn Beck (which is my first reaction), I am going to go with Patrick Dempsey. I don’t fucking trust him… he’s always checking out the peripherals, you know? Like he’s scanning, just waiting for the right moment to break out the van and the candy. Not that I watch that show, I mean, I’m a guy. Not a woman. Penis.